54

You don't need help getting inside. All you need is the proper attitude to intimidate the servants, or at least persuade them that arguing with you is likely to be more trouble than it's worth.

"I don't see the point of all this bother," you announce as you approach the door. "Obviously I have an invitation."

"I'll just need to see it, Master," the footman says.

"Nonsense," you say. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No," the footman says flatly. "I can't say that I do."

You slink back from the door and consider your next move. The problem with presenting yourself at the same door with a different excuse is that you've already made yourself memorable. It's possible that the next method of removing you from the front door might involve being ignominiously tossed into a rosebush down the street.

But the front door isn't the only way inside. Around the back, that's your best way in now. Surely in the bustle of servants and litter-bearers and caterers, no one will notice you.

You head round the building on a narrow walk lit by lanterns that barely manage to turn total darkness into murky gloom. It isn't an inviting path, although from the worn flagstones underfoot it's a well-trodden one. The lanterns make the bushes, carved into geometric topiaries, cast weird twisting shadows across the path. Once you reach the stableyard, you wait for frustratingly long minutes, your heart pounding, as servants and grooms wander across the flagstones, until finally the yard is empty long enough for you to make a dash for the door.

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